Time Swap
by Kate Has The Wings
Summary: Gohan made a selfish wish that backfired on him, and now he's stuck on Vejita-sei for a week and an impostor has taken his place back home. But if something is not completed in the 7 days allowed, both will pay the price. Yaoi. Gh/V Gh/P
1. The Derelict and The Thespian

Sometimes, and as time progressed it was more often than just _sometimes_, he felt like the place he belonged was far, far away. The home in which he had been raised felt more like a long and boring dream he was unable to wake up from rather than a safe and comfortable place to rest his head. Life hadn't changed at all since he was a child, and that bothered him. As if clocking into work and checking themselves off the time sheet, a new entity hell-bent on taking over Chikyuu would arrive every few years. He'd do what he did best and help his fellow protectors defend the world, but even that was beginning to feel like a formula more than a fight. For the past three near-apocalypses, Gohan had correctly guessed when Krillin would get his ass kicked and when his father would die. The thought crossed his mind to bet on it and rake in the dough, but even that seemed mundane.

He likened himself to a robot, going through the daily machinations of life with little effort and only the illusion of free will. Though he wasn't trying to toot his own horn, he knew the facts. Nothing was hard for him anymore. He was smarter than his peers, faster, stronger – entirely superior to them. He wondered if it was the Saiyan in him that begged for a challenge.

As the oldest demi-Saiyan he carried a burden much larger than he ever thought it would be. He had to maintain the perfect balance between the studious and just human and the strong and violent Saiyan warrior. He didn't blame Vegeta for the screaming fits over his blatantly meek and human temperament. It wasn't that Gohan was overly-human, he just knew better than to accept a battle in the middle of the shopping district. He wished Vegeta could understand what it meant to be the first of many, rather than the last of many. He had a precedent to set for his little brother, for Trunks and all the others who came after them. He hoped there wasn't too many more in the near future.

"Do something about that brat of yours, Kakarott," Vegeta snapped at Goku.

Vegeta knew Gohan was within earshot. Only the thin wall of the Capsule Corp. building separated them, and the window Gohan had been staring out of was cracked open. Vegeta's idea of subtlety was talking behind someone's back where they could overhear.

"Gohan? He's a great kid," Goku said.

Vegeta and Goku were returning from a spar, washing off with the hose in the back yard, while Gohan worked studiously on a Capsule Corp. machine.

"If you don't do something about him, then I will, and I can promise you my way will be a hell of a lot more painful than yours."

There was a lot that Gohan didn't know about himself; why certain things happened to him that humans never experienced. Gohan had a tail to hide, and it had a mind of its own that endangered his college-student and part-time-worker disguise. Gohan put down his tools, and threw the spherical electronic item at the wall. It smashed and stuck to the wall, pieces falling to the floor while the bulk of it sizzled and zapped on the wall.

"Shit."

Holding his face in his hands and his elbows on the table, he forced himself to regain a semblance of the composure he had had before Vegeta opened that big mouth of his.

"I... I gotta get out of this skin."

This was not what he wanted to do. He was starting college the coming fall for a teaching career he had no actual interest in. It was what he had to do, though. For the demi-Saiyans to be able to survive on Chikyuu, he had to show them how. He didn't want to be the leader. He was tired of wearing a mask.

"If there was something that could be done, then by Kami, Vegeta – do it," he whispered more to himself than to Vegeta.

Gohan had never expected to hear something like that from his father. He probably didn't think Gohan could hear him, but Gohan wasn't so human that his hearing was any worse than the full-bloods.

He had had enough. His soul was tired, and his body was begging for something. Gohan mused to himself, thinking about being done with humans all together. Humans had expectations that were unreasonable, pressuring and enough to make even docile Gohan feel like destroying a continent or two. How long had it been since he fought? How long had it been since he had told someone 'no'?

He needed to create something of his own, save someone on his own, become strong for himself, find what he was missing, and take care of someone because he wanted to and not out of obligation. He desired things that his home, no, even the whole planet could not provide. He had an urge to return to his origins, and he had had similar impulses over the past two years.

Gohan had to make a life for himself somewhere far from his family, far from demi-semi-deca-Saiyans, and far, far, far from human society.

Gohan got up off the workbench and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. He left Capsule Corp. without looking at his father or Vegeta. He could feel their eyes on his back, though, but he didn't stop or hesitate for even a moment. He had a selfish scheme, or at least a plan was forming, and even if he didn't go through with it, it was a hell of a lot better to let himself dream.

Vegeta stared at Goku, annoyed. The idiot had been sulking for three weeks. He didn't want to spar, he didn't want to eat, and he had even tried to stop waking up for a period of time. Ever since Gohan had run away from home that afternoon, the Saiyan had been completely useless.

"You're a waste of life." Vegeta aimed a kick at the man's head. It was something Goku would have no problem dodging, but it connected. "You're fucking pathetic. Go find him if you're so worried."

"He hates me."

Vegeta sighed. "He heard what you said, there's nothing you can do about that. Whatever he's doing or wherever he is, it's a hell of a lot better than him being here wasting air like you're doing right now."

"Chichi kicked me out."

"She's fed up with you, too."

* * *

Chikyuu - Later that Day

* * *

With his face and hands covered in the blood of his fallen foe, he smiled. This was it. This was what he wanted. Gohan picked up the golden sphere with three stars in the center. This was the last one. It had taken three weeks, but he had found all of them. Placing them on the ground, he called out Shenron and made his selfish wish.

* * *

Vejita-sei

* * *

Sandstone buildings with balconies and wooden braces lined the busy farmer's market. The smell of smoke and savory exotic food filled the air. Even from where he looked on he could hear the crackling of the fire and clattering of metal pots and lids as their contents boiled. Voices, deep and joyfully boisterous, reached even to the hill overlooking the market. Saiyans, thousands of them, walked through the cobble-stoned streets, buying, bartering, and flirting with shop-keeps and vendors. There were a few children making off with stolen goods. Gohan sat down and watched the four kids split up, jump and dive to escape the shopkeeper. One of them looked remarkably like his younger brother, Goten. It brought a smile to his face. Goten would have been much better off being born on Vejita-sei. The Goten-lookalike was laughing and grinning ear to ear.

He had never seen so many Saiyans, so many different Saiyans, so many of his own, who felt like his own kind, all in one place. From where he stood on the hill overlooking the market, he couldn't discern between male and female Saiyans, or determine if there were any female Saiyan among the crowd at all. He had never seen a female Saiyan before, and he wasn't positive he could see one now, either. The grass on the hill was soft beneath his feet, and the air was gentle and warm on his face. This was better than he could have ever asked for.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Gohan almost jumped out of his skin. Looking up at someone who resembled himself to a frightening degree, Gohan turned to face him and braced himself for a fight. This was Vejita-sei - this was what he wanted and where he wanted to be.

"Why look on enviously when you could experience life with them for yourself?" his mirror-image asked.

The clothes on his double were the same ones he'd worn when he'd made the wish. Gohan glanced down at his own outfit to better understand the level of identity his second self was infringing upon. To his surprise, they were not the ones he'd arrived with. A long hooded crimson cloak tied by a silver broach hung around his neck. His shirt was missing, and soft, black silk pants hung low around his hips, with folds of golden silk tying it to his body at the top and bottom. There was a hole for his tail in the back, which made it very comfortable to wear. In his own eyes, he looked like a male prostitute dressing up as little red riding hood.

"I-I can't interact with them!" Gohan sputtered out. "That wasn't what I wished for, and by all that is holy give me back my clothes."

"Did you really scour the Chikyuu for the Dragonballs so that you could be a spectator? Shenron didn't think so, and with a little prodding on my part, he gave us a chance. This isn't an illusion or a picture of the past. You are on Vejita-sei."

"I want my wish back, you wish-stealing dragon charming bastard. Who are you?"

"I'm your tie back to your time and home so it wouldn't do to kill me. I made a wish to change my life, and you made a wish to see what you missed out on. This is my... home. You're free to roam as you please. If you agree, I'll go to your home, your planet."

"And who says I'll agree to this? What if I want to go home?"

"Then we'll switch again, and no one will ever know. I stuck around to explain that to you. I'm wasting valuable time here. I guess it's lucky we happen to look alike, otherwise this would have been quite an endeavor on the dragons' part."

"Who are you here? A butcher, merchant... prostitute?" Gohan asked.

His carbon copy laughed. "No, no - nothing of the sort. I'm simply the orphan of two farmers with no siblings and no one who will notice if I am really me or if I have been replaced with a dashing substitute. Have fun with that open ending."

Gohan fidgeted. "I'm not sure about this-"

The man's demeanor changed from chipper to bitter instantly. "Don't be selfish. I said we'd switch back if you don't like it, but do give it a chance. We'll meet back here in one week, that's a fair amount of time, right?"

Before Gohan could get another word in, his double burst into bright consuming light that blinded him momentarily. When his sight came back, his facsimile was gone.

"Shit."

He didn't especially want to be stuck on Vejita-sei for a week, but if he looked at it as a change of pace it didn't seem like such a horrible idea. He knew nothing about Saiyans, other than what Radditz, Nappa and Vegeta had modeled. If they were prime examples of Saiyans, Gohan was better off being human.

Reluctantly, he descended the hill and weaved his way into the farmer's market attracting little attention. Gohan wandered around the bustling market in awe, looking like the perfect tourist and mark. It wasn't such a big deal, though. Anyone who tried to mug him was in for a big surprise. The vibrantly colored cloth roofs came in nearly every color he could think of, and several had intricate patterns unlike anything on Chikyuu. Some had signs hanging on the front of the stalls, with symbols Gohan knew he shouldn't have been able to understand and yet could read.

Stalls lined both sides of the street, and hawkers pitched their goods loudly to the crowd. Delicious and appalling delicacies were being handed over heads to customers farther into the crowd. Gohan found it hard to avoid the droplets of soup passing above him. Apparently cleanliness was a human convention not followed by the lower class Saiyans. There was a place further into the market where an aisle began in the middle with a vendor facing each wall.

"I'm home," he mouthed unconsciously.

This chaos was his chaos, these people were his people. He still had to hide half of who he was, but at least it was the other half this time. Gohan moseyed through the streets, loving the labyrinthine ways of the market, how every street became two or how one looked perfectly straight but would direct you back to the place you started without ever turning around. He immersed himself in something he only wished books could teach him.

The farther he walked, the quieter it got. He was going deeper into the marketplace, but the more eye-contact he made with the locals, the less they talked and the more they stared at him. They knew he wasn't one of them. Panic set in. Gohan knew what animals did to infiltrators. He kept walking, trying to seem calm and collected so they didn't attack him all at once. Some mumbled unintelligibly, others whispered to one another, but none were silent.

A Saiyan only a few sizes smaller than Gohan stood directly in his path and didn't move. It wasn't that he was being rude, but more like he couldn't make himself move. His knees shook before giving out on him. In the instant between his knees buckling and the moment of impact, Gohan caught him.

"You okay?" Gohan asked.

The Saiyan clung to his chest and stared into his eyes deeply with a mixture of fear and desire, which combined looked a lot like confusion. Gohan righted the young man, and held his shoulders in his hands to make sure he had caught his balance.

"You should take better care of yourself. Collapsing in the middle of a crowd is dangerous." Gohan lifted his hands off the teen's shoulders. "Eat some protein and get some sleep."

"What's an Elite doing here? A-are you really an Elite?" the teen asked quietly.

Gohan's brow creased. "An elite? I have no clue what you're talking about, sorry." Gohan paused. Had he just? Was it possible? Yes, he really had just spoken and understood the native tongue. Maybe it was something his replica did on the way out.

"No, I'm the one who is sorry!"

Gohan gazed at him worriedly for a moment. He put a hand on the young man's head and ruffled his soft dark hair. "No worries."

The boy looked up at him with adoration and nodded. Crap. He hadn't intended to gain a second little brother, but he wasn't totally against the idea, either.

"Can I ask a favor?" Gohan ventured.

"Anything!"

The answer was so immediate that it threw himoff balance. He had a feeling the teen really did mean 'anything', and that made Gohan feel very uncomfortable.

"Can you tell me where I am?"

"The capital."

"Thanks," Gohan smiled. His hand found its way back into the kid's hair.

"That's it?" the Saiyan seemed disappointed. "If you're gonna rub, do it lower."

Gohan whacked the side of the young man's head gently. "Don't be crass. What's your name?"

"Shoran, third class."

"I'm Gohan, third class, nice to meet you." Gohan stuck his hand out, and Shoran stared at it. Gohan took his hand back. Hand shaking was apparently not a native custom.

"You're really third class?" Shoran asked skeptically.

Gohan, who knew nothing of Saiyans apart from Vegeta insulting his family, nodded without hesitation. "You should head home, Shoran, you still don't look so good."

"You're not from the city, are you?" Shoran laughed. "Brats like me don't got homes."

"Where are your parents?" Gohan asked.

"You're not from this continent, either, huh?" Shoran laughed. "There was a war about ten years back. Look around you. Everyone is either really old, or really young. Anyone who was capable was drafted and no one's heard from 'em since. And if you're wondering where all the women are, they're in the palace under lock and key. I think there's something like twelve left, and guess who got 'em reserved?"

Gohan looked at the ground. He had been tired of his careless father and his overpowering mother, taking their existence for granted. At least he had parents. He raised his eyes. The Saiyans around him definitely had a wide age gap between them. While Saiyans kept their youthful appearances much longer than humans did, it wasn't difficult to tell where the line between young and old was drawn. Gohan would have thought the old would take care of the young, but that wasn't the case. The aged men seemed more concerned about themselves, at least from the looks of things.

"Who takes care of you? You're still young."

"I can take care of myself. I'm no brat."

"How do you feed yourself?" Gohan was impressed by the younger Saiyan.

"Steal it."

"Where do you sleep?"

"On porches."

"When do you bathe?"

"When it rains."

"Where do you learn?"

"The streets."

Gohan's chest tightened terribly. It was mortifying. He couldn't imagine having to take care of himself as a teen. He could have done it, hypothetically, but the outcome would have been terrifying for humanity.

"Hey, hey!" Shoran waved his hands in front of Gohan's face. "You look like you're gonna cry."

Gohan smiled at him. His face was blurry, it was true. He had been tearing up. "You're pretty amazing, Shoran," Gohan smiled.

Shoran's eyes lowered and he blushed. "I-I'm nothing special."

Gohan, missing the mood poor Shoran tried to create between them, gazed up at the smoky sky to think. Maybe this was why he was brought to the real Vejita-sei. "Are there others like you? Homeless, I mean."

"In the capital? Twenty thousand or more, easy."

Gohan's eyes fell to the palms of his hands. "I think I can manage that many if I put my mind to it."

Shoran bent and placed his face in in Gohan's eye-line to get his attention. "What are you talking about?"

Gohan smiled at him. "What's the economy like?"

"What?"

"What is the currency, and how much would I need to buy a house?"

Shoran shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a single bronze coin. "That's the smallest our money gets. It can buy one apple or two potatoes. The cheapest house is 10,000 gold. Each gold coin is a thousand silver, and a piece of silver is a thousand bronze. Why?"

Gohan sat himself down at the base of the tree, and leaned against its trunk. Inflation sucked.

"I thought I found the reason I was brought here, but I guess I was wrong."

Shoran sat beside him. "You kidding? I don't know where you've been, but when it comes to strong guys like you, class don't matter."

"Strong?" Gohan scoffed. "You should meet my father before you say something like that."

Shoran gulped at the mention of Gohan's father. "You didn't notice everyone gawking at you?"

"I did, but still-"

"Everyone can feel it. The pressure surrounding you makes it hard to breathe... makes something else pretty damn hard, too."

Gohan whacked the side of his head. "Didn't I just tell you not to be crass?"

"My bad, my bad!" Shoran laughed.

Gohan thought about it. His shoulders tensed unconsciously. There was a huge gap in power levels between Vejita-sei and home. There was always _that_ way.

"So I can do it?"

"I'll let you do 'it' as man-"

Gohan shot Shoran a look, and the boy smiled brightly, but stopped talking.

Gohan stood and wiped the dirt off the back of his silk pants.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to give you a home to go to, of course."

"If this is some sort of joke, you're sick."

"You and everyone else who lost their homes, I'll give them a place to go back to. Meet back here in exactly six days, and I'll hand you all the money you'll need to buy a couple houses." Gohan said without a hint of hesitation.

"Why? You're not responsible for it, so why bother?"

"I'm stuck here for a week, and I've got nothing better to do."

"You're not serious."

Gohan placed his hand on Shoran's head. "You just show up here in six days and find out."

Gohan lifted off and rose above the buildings to get a better look at the surroundings. Far in the distance he could see a huge majestic palace of white stone. He took off toward the palace without looking down at Shoran even once.

* * *

Chikyuu

* * *

He arrived on a strange planet with a blue sky and cool, crisp air. It was different from Vejita-sei's humid, heavy air and dusky pink sky. Standing in the middle of a desert with steep rock faces and cliffs and very sparse shrubbery made him wonder if he had made a good decision. He had no idea what kind of world his look-alike came from, but this was it in all its sandy-beige glory.

"Gohan, I didn't think I'd find you out here!"

He yelped. He thought he had been completely alone, but the friendly voice proved that theory wrong. Someone had just called him 'Gohan', which was his double's name as far as he knew, and that would be his name for the duration of his stay, he guessed. He was just glad he could understand their language. It certainly wasn't Saiya-go, but it was familiar to him somehow. "I'm just looking around."

"Huh? I can't understand a word you're saying."

He stomped a foot and pouted. So he could understand their language but not speak it. That was unfair. He took a deep breath before he turned around.

"A third-class?" Gohan was confused.

He had wished to travel to a time when Saiyan were not blood-hungry warlords, to a place and time of peace. A time where he could move freely without drawing attention. He assumed that that time would only come when there were no more Saiyans left to fight each other. So why was there a Saiyan smiling at him so friendlily?

"Where am I?" Gohan asked.

The Saiyan reached a hand out to him and placed it on his shoulder. Gohan recoiled considerably. The man stared into his eyes determinedly before confusion won over the expression. "You aren't my son."

Gohan hung his head. This was a problem. He _just_ met his copy's father, and he'd already been found out. He already screwed up and destroyed any chance he had of doing what needed to be done in the time frame he'd allowed himself.

"What's the hold up, Kakarott?"

The familiar face of the Royal Saiyan bloodline rose into sight. Gohan's hands became fists. This wasn't his wish, he had been trying to escape everything Saiyan, and he ended up getting cheated out of a week of his life. Gohan had to resign himself to the fact he might fail. This was his only chance, and circumstance had already ruined it.

"This isn't Gohan," the father said. He appeared angry, like Gohan had stolen his twin's body, which wasn't true. Gohan had stolen his entire life. "I don't know who it is, but it isn't my son."

"Don't I look like him? Seeing as you can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, you're not a Saiyan, are you? You damned third-classed moron," Gohan said with a kind tone and an innocent smile.

The man with the Royal face walked over to him, grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to connect. All happiness left Gohan's face. He could tell that something was wrong, and it was probably something that he had done.

"That third-class idiot may not be able to understand you, but I sure as hell can."

Gohan shirked away from the man. "You understand me?"

"You're speaking the language of my home world, something Gohan would not know," the regal man attested. "Who are you, and where is the boy?"

Gohan didn't know how to answer. Would answering honestly put him in more danger? It was a high possibility he would die by the father's hands if he came out and told the truth. He had stolen his son and marooned him on a foreign world for a week; that was enough to warrant his death. He couldn't understand what someone of royal blood would have in common with a third-class. If he had interrupted their secret tryst, that too would spell his death. He saw failure at every turn.

"Vegeta, you understand him?" the father-figure asked.

Gohan didn't feel any murderous intentions coming from the man at that moment, but with Saiyans, at least the ones Gohan knew of, there were none willing to give the benefit of any doubt.

"Shut up, moron, I'm busy."

He could play it off two ways. One would be meek, but that would require a lot more alcohol and a lot less clothing, both of which he couldn't find at the moment. The second way was confident, and he had everything he needed to accomplish that.

"There's actually a Saiyan who can't speak Saiya-go?" Gohan tried to smother a laugh. "Talk about illiterate and uneducated."

"I'll only ask you once: what did you do with the boy?" The Prince asked.

Gohan had a lot of questions, but he knew if he asked anymore of them he'd lose his ability to talk himself out of his grave. His confidence game wasn't working. He was smack-dab out of options. Well, there was always _that_. A hand flew to his forehead and he bent over as if in pain. He groaned in agony for effect.

"What's wrong with him?" the father-figure asked the Prince.

"Maybe he is your brat, but I'm not the one who taught him Saiya-go and it's anybody's guess how he grew a spine."

Gohan fell onto his ass and pulled his knees up. Putting both hands in his hair and placing his forehead on his knees he rocked slightly. It was no lie that he had a headache, but it the degree of ache was much exaggerated. He knew that if time ran against him it would eventually rise to that level of pain.

"Go-Gohan..."

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Gohan screamed.

His voice echoed off the walls of the cliffs and rocks. It sounded convincing even to him. A hand landed on his head, and with tear stained cheeks he looked up. This was nothing new to him. He was a born con artist, which is what started the trouble that placed him on Vejita-sei in the first place.

"Why do you smell like home?"

Gohan was completely thrown by that question. It had been asked so quietly, as if it caused the man physical pain to ask at all. Gohan screwed his eyes shut for a lack of a an answer that wouldn't get him killed. He backed away from the hand like it hurt, and he let out a scream so heartrending and loud it echoed off the cliffs all the way on the horizon.

"Kakarott, get the green giant here and don't dawdle!" The Prince ordered; looking at the hand Gohan had pulled away from.

"Piccolo?" the father asked.

"Yes, the Namek-" Vegeta snarled in frustration.

How could he protect his secret identity from a Namekian? He was pretty sure they had some telepathic or psychic ability, but he'd only read books with anything regarding them in passing and hadn't cared to remember the parts that were probably important.

Gohan started panting like his head was going to explode, and right before his eyes he saw the father-figure disappear. He tried to make it seem like he wasn't horrified by the man's sudden disappearance, but it was difficult. He hoped any residual shock appeared as agony and self-realization that he was only getting worse.

"Gohan didn't know Saiya-go. You can understand English, but why can't you speak it?" the Prince asked.

Gohan kept in his sigh of relief. It just took time to understand the language.

"You smell like Vejita-sei, boy. Explain that much to me. Tell me if there are other Saiyans out there!"

Lucky for Gohan, he was hyperventilating and making himself quite dizzy, which made it impossible for him to respond.

"When the Namek gets here, he'll know better than anyone if you're the real deal, and then there is no running from the truth."

The Prince wasn't buying his pain act, and he had a feeling he'd been playing along to get the father-figure to obey his order. Gohan figured it was reasonable. After all, having family meant that someone knew him, cared about him, and could tell him apart from a crowd of doppelganger, or so he'd been told.

"It _hurts_." And something in him did hurt, but it wasn't his head. His chest ached for the things he had missed out on. He wanted a family who would care for him more than anything else. "Everything _hurts_."

The father-figure appeared before him once again with a tall, handsome and green being next to him.

"Gohan?" the Namekian's deep voice rumbled in Gohan's chest like thunder rumbling through a stormy sky.

He wasn't attacking the Saiyans, and it confused Gohan. The two were enemies, so why did the Namekian look so concerned? It bothered and confused him. They were dangerous, that's what he'd always been told.

"Is this Gohan?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" the Namekian asked.

"Talk, boy."

Gohan's hands tightened on his head.

"I said; talk!"

It felt like his body was exploding. He was on his side, and he could still feel the foot that had connected with his ribs. That man was the Prince, no doubt, the only Saiyan whose temper matched his father's, the King. Gohan pushed himself up and ignored the pain in his ribs to hold his head. If this didn't convince them that something was wrong with his head, then nothing would.

"He isn't Gohan," the father-figure said. "Gohan would have no trouble taking a kick like that."

The Namekian approached and knelt down in front of him. He smelled like trees and grass and water and sunshine and flowers and rain. The man closed his eyes and put his palm on Gohan's forehead. Gohan stopped cringing. Gohan couldn't stop his body from relaxing. His legs slid to the ground, and his hands moved to cover the man's hand. He couldn't stop himself. His natural enemy was touching his head – a very precious body part – and he was relaxed, almost giddy about it.

"Are you alright, kid?" the man asked.

Gohan sniffled and nodded. The man opened his eyes, and Gohan stared into them, lost and looking for answers. Gohan let his fingertips touch and explore the Namekian's hand.

"I feel like I'm watching something I shouldn't be," the royal muttered to the father.

"Don't worry me like that," the Namekian said before he removed his hand and stood up.

The Namekian kept his back to Gohan, and Gohan stared at what he was shown, the wide, muscular back, and strong legs regretfully hidden by cloth. Gohan crept behind the man and reached toward him tentatively.

"What's wrong with him?"

"It's Gohan, but he's... He's sick. It's Gohan's body; he has all the physical memories of the fights he's been in. His body has the scars, but his mind is strange."

"Can we cure him?" the father-figure asked, worried only after finding out it really was his son.

"It's something he has to deal with. Maybe it's an identity-crisis. A case of the Saiyan half fighting the human half. Looks like his Saiyan half is winning."

"Get him to speak. I think the problem is bigger than that."

"I don't think he even knows who we are right now," the Namekian said.

"Who are you?" Gohan asked. He grabbed the hem of the man's shirt and tugged gently.

The Namekian looked down at him and Gohan could almost see a smirk on his lips. "I'm Piccolo."

"Why is Piccolo being so... tender?" the father questioned

"He saw a chance and took it."

With his plans thrown to the back of his mind, he could only hope the other Gohan figured the cape out in time to save himself and had no desire to return to Chikyuu. He had been confused and attacked and the planet didn't seem that pretty, but he wouldn't mind staying forever. One week was not going to be long enough. A whole lifetime might not suffice, either.


	2. The Trespasser and the Charlatan

**Kate: Edited on 5-12-2011**

* * *

Vejita-sei

* * *

Gohan searched for Vegeta's energy. He had been zipping around the exterior of the gigantic white palace, but hadn't been able to distinguish much about the Prince's location or about the Saiyans inside. It was a gigantic structure, no doubt the architectural pride of the Saiyan race. The elaborately carved white stone was beautiful and distracting. The windows he could see had beautiful arches over them, with what was probably the Royal Crest above each one in some sort of silver-copper metal.

He peeked through a couple windows and was either shooed away or attacked. He escaped any pursuers, and wished he'd had the foresight to ask them a couple questions, like how to get inside or where Vegeta was. If Vegeta was in the center, or maybe even below ground, because it looked like what he could see was just the tip of the iceberg, Gohan would have to get closer in order to find him.

It took him some time, but he realized that the guards he spied on hadn't given up, they left to get reinforcements. He hadn't gone unnoticed at all; in reality his presence had caused quite a stir and more than enough excitement to rouse the guards from their lofty positions throughout the palace.

If he was going to accomplish his goal in the amount of time he had left, he needed to go directly to the top. He knew he wouldn't have enough time to be able to do everything he was planning, but there was hope, however small, of success.

He almost wanted to tell Shoran to meet up in seven days, but that would mean missing his ride back home. It had been so long since he had set his own goal, one that he didn't have to wear some stupid superhero costume to achieve. Every minute counted, and he would not allow anything to slow him down. Six days was not enough time to play hero who was allowed a face and name. He was going to live it up.

Maybe Vegeta had already been shipped off world, Gohan thought to himself. There was only one way to find out: smoke the bastard out. Gohan slowed and let the guards catch up to him. He smiled at them charmingly, before launching his gentle assault.

* * *

Chikyuu

* * *

Piccolo sat on the grassy hill by the lake a short distance from Gohan's body snatcher. The said imposter dozed in the sunshine, stomach exposed and not a care in the world. Piccolo's jaw tightened. There was no denying how wrong it was to let the situation stand, but on the off-chance this was the one and only Gohan, Piccolo couldn't let the chance pass him by. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to feel guilty over pouring his affections, however stoic, into someone who was most certainly not the man he had been yesterday.

The boy stretched and turned over in his sleep, moving in such a perfectly terrible way that sent him careening down the hill toward the lake at a good clip. Piccolo sped to rescue the apparently still asleep Saiyan, but wasn't quite fast enough. The impostor rolled into the water with a splash.

"What the hell?" The charlatan shouted after breaking the water's surface.

Piccolo tried to remain unruffled, but it was hard to do after seeing such a characteristically Gohan action coming from someone who was very obviously not Gohan.

"Are you going to live or should I call an ambulance?" Piccolo asked. He stood far enough away so that the fake Gohan wouldn't know he had tried and failed to save him. That would be too much.

Gohan's face smiled up at him in the same lackadaisical manner the boy wore as a child.

"I'm fine, just surprised," exotic words flowed from the youth.

"I know you aren't Gohan," Piccolo said flatly. "So who are you, and where is he?"

The boy's smile didn't fade at all. "You knew all along, didn't you?" the fraud asked.

Piccolo nodded.

"Well," Gohan, who was Gohan for all needs and purposes, rose to his feet and trudged out of the lake and up the grassy slope. He slipped once, but caught himself. "the switch isn't permanent, so don't worry. You'll have your own Gohan back in a couple days."

"Where is he?" Piccolo asked.

"It was just coincidence, really," he said. Piccolo noticed the man's avoidance in answering. "we both wanted to be somewhere else for a while. He used the Dragonballs, I used an enchanted cape. He's where I was, and I'm where he was."

Piccolo was motionless. The thought that Gohan had been so upset he'd had no option but to ask the dragon for anything angered him. Why didn't Gohan come to him for help? He proved time and time again he would come through for the lad. And yet, the dragon had been the better choice. He sat, crossing his legs, making it impossible to get close to him.

"You're not going to turn me in as a fraud, right? You don't plan on bringing me back to the Saiyan we met before, do you?" Gohan placed his hands on his knees and bent at the hips to meet the man's eyes.

Piccolo stared into the depths of the dark eyes in front of him that begged and almost, just almost, seduced him into the boy's desired decision. Piccolo stayed perfectly still.

"There's nothing to be done about it." Piccolo placed a hand on the Saiyan's head and pushed him down the hill gently, trying to create a distanced relationship between them.

The fake tumbled, but caught himself and just lay on his stomach, looking up the hill charmingly at the ethically challenged alien. Whenever the real Gohan returned, he wouldn't be happy to learn his mentor had sexed him up while he was away. It was like molesting a sleeping person, or making a drunk pay a debt they don't owe.

The Saiyan laughed a little, and rolled over so that he gazed up at him upside down. Piccolo was quite positively an enemy from wherever or whenever the strange impostor had arrived from. Could this be the new threat? This devastatingly provocative mountebank had removed one of the strongest of Chikyuu's defenders from the equation and took his place. If that was the rogue's plan, it was masterfully crafted and Piccolo wasn't positive the good guys would win this fight.

* * *

Vejita-sei

* * *

Vegeta sat on the floor, leaning against a leg of his father's throne. He could have easily sat in his own opulent chair, but opulence for the sake of opulence sickened him. He was the Prince, but that didn't mean he liked the way things were being done. When he became king things were going to change. He already garnered enough influence to have some say in his father's plans, but he lacked the physical power and reinforcement to overthrow him. And his father knew that.

His father was a fool not fit to be King. Allying with Freiza was a mistake even a third-class moron could point out. Vegeta let his breath out slowly. Things needed to change, and he had confidence that he could set the Saiyan race back on firm ground. He had Nappa and half the Elite forces backing him, but they were young and while experienced they were naive. He needed someone who could help him orchestrate an entire war, not just start a fight or end a battle. The Elites on his side were great men, but they... weren't the smartest bunch.

The Captain of the Elite Guard was reporting to his father, and he hadn't been listening nearly as much as he should have.

"Have you taken care of the trespasser yet?" the King asked. That perked Vegeta's ears.

The Captain smiled. "I don't believe he is a threat. He has yet to kill or even seriously injure any of the Elites."

"Someone has kept a very promising recruit secret from us. If we knew he was this capable, he'd already be in the guard."

"True."

Vegeta liked the Captain, both his spirit and his beliefs. He was kinder than any Saiyan Vegeta encountered before, but he was strong and fair. It was against the Captain's beliefs to wear the ceremonial armor any of his predecessors had. The Saiyan distributed any gifts he was given personally or professionally from the King among his men. He did not have grand ambitions; he wanted to make an honest living protecting the people.

"I want him put down. This is bad for negotiations."

Vegeta sat up. Either his father was being overly cautious, or there was something special about this trespasser. This wasn't the first trespasser by far. Vegeta remembered nearly three dozen since he turned 6. All were killed for fighting on royal grounds. His father never had to put into words that he wanted someone killed - it was a given. This was the longest Vegeta ever knew an invader to survive.

"If I may say, I believe there is something to be gained from him. Killing him would be a waste."

That was a high compliment coming from the Captain, just about the highest the man ever paid anyone. Vegeta pushed himself to his feet.

"I want him dead, Captain."

"What can be gained?" Vegeta asked. His eyes were fixed on the Captain's, and they did not waiver.

"Ah, look at him, my little boy is taking interest in something!" The King bragged. Vegeta felt like barfing on the King's lap. His father was a moron – too old and too sentimental to be effective or authoritative.

The Captain seemed to be judging Vegeta's motives and weighing the significance of the boy's sudden concern over the matter. Vegeta saw a small smile form on the man's lips. The Captain's gaze returned to the King.

"I propose we let the next King take care of this matter on personally, and see how he resolves this situation. It may give us a preview of the era to come," The Captain said.

Vegeta held his breath. He was shaking with excitement and honor and gratefulness. The Captain was placing his trust in him, challenging him and giving him all the support he could while still remaining loyal to the King. Vegeta looked at his father with determination.

"Put on a good show, boy. Don't embarrass yourself."

Vegeta was out of the room and heading to the guard post before his father finished speaking.

* * *

Vegeta followed the Captain to the last reported location of the trespasser. Vegeta saw the group of guards encircling a pair of Saiyans. Vegeta headed toward them, but the Captain gripped his shoulder, keeping him stationary. There was a long pause while they watched the duel, which looked more like the invader was playing with the Elites, before Vegeta broke the silence.

"So a trespasser gained your attention. What made it a matter to be brought to the King?"

"Self-preservation," the man admitted without shame or a shred of cowardice. "Death is the price of failure, and I can't kill him."

"Can't or won't?"

The Captain gave Vegeta a knowing look. "It's inability, not unwillingness. Nappa couldn't land a single hit on him. Neither could the other Elites who have given their all trying to subdue him."

"What about Radditz?" Vegeta asked. Radditz wasn't as strong as Nappa, but he was smarter and could pick out a weakness in any defense. It made him stand out among the young recruits.

"He remains to be the only one the trespasser refuses to fight. Do you believe they know one another?"

The Prince shook his head. Vegeta didn't understand. The situation was getting stranger and stranger, but he did not find himself moving away from it. Vegeta took a closer look at the man fighting his Elites. He wanted to laugh. The man was dressed like an exotic dancer or concubine. It would take quite a while before his men regained their pride after being beaten by what looked to be a prostitute. The crimson cloak and silver broach seemed too familiar and too ancient to not have significance, but Vegeta let it slip from his mind. The intruder didn't look crazed, and instead smiled gleefully. The group surrounding the man was thinning quickly, and the bodies scattered on the ground, unconscious, were growing in number.

"If he's so strong, then why has no one died?" Vegeta asked.

"Look carefully. He's not playing. He's teaching. It is like he is looking down on us all from a much higher position. It's almost insulting the way he's teaching them," The Captain paused before continuing, "what do you plan on doing with him?"

"Create a new era in Saiyan history."

* * *

Gohan was beginning to think he wasn't getting anywhere by just fighting guards. Maybe he was wrong, and the stronger people were standing their ground inside the palace walls. He wondered if it would have been better just to burst through the front doors guns ablaze. Not that he had any guns on hand, or even knew which side you held and which side you pointed, and most certainly he did not know where the front door was. Radditz, his uncle, was watching him fight. If Radditz hadn't been shipped off yet, then Vegeta was still there. It only made sense.

Saiyan after Saiyan hit the ground and none had been able to stand back up. He felt bad just beating them to a pulp, so he had given them a few chances to land some hits, but they missed the huge opportunity each time. They were kittens and he was beating them - that's how bad it felt. Then again, it was a hell of a thrill fighting his own kind.

"Your left side is weak," Gohan whispered into the man's ear before disappearing and showing up behind him.

Giving advice would hurt their pride, but if they listened then it wouldn't matter how much their pride had been damaged. The breeze was gentle and cool, and it brought with it a familiar scent. Gohan stopped fighting with the youth in front of him and resumed searching for his target. Before his eyes had even landed on his goal he was already heading toward it. The guards watched his movement carefully, and as soon as they noticed where he was heading they redoubled their efforts to stop him. Gohan ceased the teaching games and the being gentle to defenseless kittens act as soon as he saw Vegeta.

His plan _had_ worked. He no longer had a need to reproach himself for being stupid, and that was a great feeling, one he hadn't had in a long, long time. Vegeta was standing right in front of him. He could feel the smile on his face grow. He looked so young and- and- and young!

"I knew you'd come," Gohan said.

Vegeta was only a few feet from him. It felt no different than standing next to the Vegeta of his own world. The same intimidating and higher-than-thou feelings were radiating off him. Or maybe they were coming from the tall, buff and sharp looking man standing behind him like a bodyguard. Gohan's smile faded after an exceedingly long awkward silence. Gohan took a deep breath. He was as stubborn as ever. Gohan would have to do all the work to get any progress.

"I was waiting for you, you know," Gohan said.

There was no way that didn't prompt a 'why', or a response of some kind. One of the guards he'd felled earlier ran at him silently, but Gohan wasn't having of it. Without looking, and one swift kick, the half-breed sent the guard flying into the stone of the palace wall. The building cracked significantly, but Gohan paid it no mind. Vegeta still hadn't said a word to him. What would he have to do to get a word out of the man? Gohan took a moment to reassess the situation he'd gotten himself into. Vegeta was standing in front of him. There was a courtyard full of beaten guards behind him, a broken wall to his right. Radditz was standing off to the side brooding about something that was probably unrelated and not Gohan's fault in the slightest, and there was a large man standing behind Vegeta. He'd caused a commotion, sure, but it wasn't something he'd expect to be out of the ordinary. The were a race of fighters.

He took a closer look at Vegeta. He was staring directly at him, but his eyes were staring off into the distance, surprised and a little horrified.


	3. The Negotiator and The Traitor

**Kate: Edited as of 5/13/11. Because I totally forgot where I was and what the story was about, so I'm correcting it and adding content. See, edited ONE DAY after chapter 2 . I'm really actually working on the story this time.**

Chapter 3: The Negotiator and the Traitor

* * *

Vejita-sei

* * *

"I was waiting for you, you know."

Vegeta couldn't breathe, much less vocally respond. His cock was _hard_. That never happened without someone of sufficient breeding and class being naked and some manual preparation on their part. The air was heavy, and the pressure the trespasser was giving off was enough to bring a normal Saiyan to his knees. This was what the Captain couldn't kill.

There was a light, foreign feeling in his chest. It was like happiness, but it wouldn't go away or die down, and it only mixed and fueled the heat in his lower stomach. He hadn't met anyone other than the Captain who could make him feel as vulnerable as the Saiyan in front of him, and his cock had never reacted to the Captain in the manner it was responding to the intruder.

The trespasser's eyes never left his own when he sent one of the Elites into the palace wall, and Vegeta steeled himself from stepping back and from falling into the Captain's chest, begging to be held by somebody, anybody - which was strange because he was always the holder and never the held. This was not good. There was something otherworldly about this intruder, and Vegeta was not sure how he felt about him being within five meters. Vegeta watched the young man bow on one knee. That did not make sense. His face was so close to... No, he had to persevere. There were people watching and he would not publicly shame himself.

The trespasser who had officially taken out the entire Elite force, save the Captain and Radditz, with ease was showing the Prince the respect he was due. He didn't raise his head. Vegeta looked over his shoulder at the Captain, who was just as clueless as he was. The Captain shrugged a shoulder, and Vegeta swallowed the lump in his throat. He was a Prince, not a coward!

"What business do you claim to have with me?"

The trespasser stood and studied him with kind, compassionate eyes and a smile so enticing and igniting he began to worry about how to discretely clean up the embarrassing mess he was dripping into the front of his suit.

"Hmm? You're a lot cuter than I thought you would be," the trespasser whispered to him.

Vegeta frowned. He was not cute; he was rugged and manly and refined and regal and handsome and intimidating – not cute. Vegeta thought briefly of hurting the man, but if the Captain couldn't kill him, then Vegeta didn't stand a chance. Still, he felt the urge to hasten the conversation so he could take care of the throbbing problem between his legs in private.

"Do you have a reason for attacking the guards or not?" Vegeta snapped. He hadn't meant to say it so aggressively.

"It's like I said: I was just biding my time, waiting for you." If that wasn't a mating proposal, then Vegeta was not a Saiyan, nor a Prince, nor a man at all, although the swollen flesh between his legs refuted the last part's denial. "I figured if I caused enough trouble you'd come out eventually. I was prepared to continue this for three or four days, but you've shown up ahead of schedule. I can't say I'm upset about that."

Vegeta's head swam, and he fought the urge to pass out. Vegeta saw the Captain take a step forward and in front of him, and as soon as Vegeta couldn't see the strange man, his senses returned to him.

"I will not let you take the Prince!" The Captain bellowed.

Vegeta moved from behind the Captain in time to see the trespasser laugh at the large man with the most surprised and amused face he had seen any sane Saiyan make, if a Saiyan who attacked the Palace waiting for a counsel with the Prince could even be called sane. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. He was filled with doubt and apprehension he was unaccustomed to, all because of one ridiculously strong Saiyan laughing like a brat.

"I... I'm not here to kidnap him... I promise," the trespasser managed out between bouts of laughter. He was holding his side with one arm and showing them his other palm as if that was reassuring them in some way that he was telling the truth.

A vague thought passed through Vegeta's mind: that gesture was not one Saiyan's made, but one often seen from off-worlders. The thought escaped him before he could ponder on it anymore.

"Why were you waiting for his Majesty?"

The young man, now done laughing, looked into Vegeta's eyes like he could see his soul through them. "You tell me," he said softly. "Why am I here?"

Vegeta fought to maintain his composure while his face flushed like the cape the trespasser wore. Vegeta was mortified. He had just made a terrible mess inside his suit. He hadn't even been touched, and he was twitching and coming like an inexperienced brat.

This trespasser was unnerving to say the absolute least. Vegeta couldn't find a way to answer him. This man was strong and far more intelligent than Vegeta was ready to deal with. It was like the trespasser had known him for years and could see into the very depths of his being. Like he knew all of his secrets and found them incredibly sexy. There was so much more to the intruder than Vegeta had first believed there to be, and surely there was more than he was assuming there to be after having messed himself thoroughly.

The Captain turned and looked at Vegeta with an eyebrow quirked and a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He never could get anything past the wise man. "This matter is best discussed away from prying eyes and loyal ears." The Captain gestured to Radditz, who was much closer than he had been.

* * *

Gohan sat at a darkly stained wooden table, on a plush red velvet armchair. Vegeta, the large older man that had been following him, and a man who looked stunningly identical to his father, sat on the other sides of the square table. For some reason Vegeta had changed from the ceremonial Saiyan armor into loose fitting pants and a tight black t-shirt. Gohan didn't think much of it. He probably only wore the armor when he went outside – in the same way that Gohan only wore pants when he was out of the house. The minute he got home from work his pants were off.

The room was small, and Gohan had the feeling it was actually just a closet with a table and some fancy chairs in it. There were no windows , and a single chandelier that looked like it was worth more than five years in Capsule Corp. revenue hung from the high ceiling.

"Who the hell is this chump?" his father look-alike asked. "Looks like you stopped by the brothel and brought someone home."

"That's harsh," Gohan said. "This cape is all the rage back home." That wasn't a complete lie, at one point in history capes HAD been fashionable. It wasn't really considered a lie if they didn't understand what he was talking about when he said things clearly: like explaining quantum physics to a toddler, it wasn't a lie; it was just something they weren't smart enough to understand.

Not to mention he was becoming kind of attached to the cape. It was soft on the inside, and waterproof on the outside, not to mention it had a hood, and the silver broach changed shapes depending on the mood of the people around him. It was a big help when he was deciding tactics for conversation and bartering. He hadn't figured out what the perfect circle was, back when he first met Vegeta on Vejita-sei.

That snarky old coot was certainly not Goku in any way. Gohan never heard his father speak that way. It was more like Vegeta talking and his father's mouth moving. Gohan repressed a smile. He didn't want to think in depth about how Vegeta would use Goku as a ventriloquist dummy.

On the bright side, he knew exactly where Vegeta learned how to talk.

If anyone asked where he came from, Gohan would have no other realistic choice but to tell them he had come from a traveling troupe or circus. It wouldn't exactly be lying, either. With all the tricks, exotic animals, freaks that could change personalities by sneezing, and the rest of the team back home, he was sure they could have drawn a crowd and gotten quite famous had they cared to try.

"Have you heard about the trespasser who took out the entire Elite Guard present at the palace?" the Captain asked.

"Yeah. Hell, Radditz was throwing a fit about being treated like a child by him. Can't say that he isn't a spoiled brat anymore."

"That 'chump' is him."

A smile foreign to Goku's lips formed on his double. It was not sinister, but it was dark and knowing, while at the same time playful and challenging. "The name's Bardock, kid. So you are the brat the Captain refused to fight."

"First I heard of it, but I guess I am," he nodded, unsure whether the Captain refusing to fight him was complimentary or insulting.

"Are you also the one who made the Prince mess him-"

Vegeta was pointing a ki ball at the man named Bardock, and in a very low tone said, "If you value your life you'll never bring that up again. And Captain, if you tell another living soul, I'll promote you to Grand General of a desert city."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Bardock rolled his eyes.

Gohan had no idea what had transpired between the two even though he had been there to witness it. Maybe that was for the best, he decided.

"I'm the Captain," the older Saiyan waved a hand. "You seem to already know the Prince."

"Who doesn't, though?" Gohan shrugged his words off.

"No, I get the distinct impression you've met him before," the Captain said.

"Not in this lifetime," Gohan replied.

It wasn't a lie, really. The life on Vejita-sei was entirely different than the life on Chikyuu. If he wanted to be literal about it, by this point in history he wasn't even conceived yet. The Captain eyed him suspiciously, but Gohan was sure he'd cleared all the necessary hurdles of continuity.

"What's your name, kid?" Bardock asked.

"Gohan," he answered.

"Not a Saiyan name, that's for sure," Bardock folded his arms over his chest.

Gohan, like his father, was a terrible liar by nature. But still, he pulled his wits together, and said as seriously as possible, and without a guilty smile on his face, "my father was an acrobat in a touring group, and my mother was a foreigner – did you really think I'd end up with a common name like... Kakarott or Shoran?"

He was cutting it damn close. He knew too little about Saiyans, and he had used the only two names that didn't belong to those who were present or mentioned recently. He had to be prepared better than this. It wasn't like him to walk into a situation blindly. He was a thinker, a strategist - a planner - and yet he was pulling lies out of the air and hoping he didn't alienate his only chance of helping the way he said he would.

"Tell me why I'm here, Vegeta," Gohan said.

"Ooh, he's got balls! Calling the crown Prince by name, next it'll be leaving the table first and bed sharing."

"Knock it off, Bardock," the Captain warned.

"You're going to overthrow my father, and I am going to claim the throne."

Gohan thought about what he could remember about his childhood and his early encounters with Saiyans. Did they know about Freiza? Was Freiza even a threat yet? Gohan curled his toes and tapped his fingers on the table in quick repetitions while shaking his head. He shouldn't say it, but it was SO tempting.

"You've got something to say? Spit it out."

"Possibly, give me a minute," Gohan said. He had to weigh the pros and cons before completely changing the course of history.

He knew he had already changed too much by just showing up, but he had trouble finding a good, logical reason to spill the proverbial beans on the situation they were about to face. It wouldn't only change his own life, but the entire universe. He was about to make a decision that would affect every living being.

Gohan cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the table. In a sheepish tone, he ventured, "Hypothetically, and this is strictly hy-po-thetical, if I were to say that Freiza is a bigger problem than the King, would it make any sense to you whatsoever?"

He looked up from the table very shyly to see the Captain with his mouth hanging open and Vegeta staring at him with eyes wide and distant. Bardock was smirking and leaning back in his chair, amused rather than shocked like the other two.

"Hy-po-thetically," Bardock replied, "if no one but the Captain, the Prince, I, and the King knew a being called Freiza even existed, then it would be impossible for you, an outsider, to know about that damned transvestite."

"I'm glad this is hypothetical, or I might just be in a tight situation," Gohan laughed nervously.

"Who are you really?" Vegeta asked.

Gohan looked from one man to the next, and with all seriousness said "I'm the proud father of twenty thousand homeless Saiyans." He paused for effect, and when the eyes of each of the full-blood Saiyans widened, and their gazes went to his groin, he sighed. "Yes, even the old wrinkly ones. I'm adopting them all. And I'll do anything you ask of me if you put a roof over each head and at least two meals a day."

"You're joking, right?" the Captain asked.

"No, I'm not. That's my price for the King's head. The price for killing Freiza is complete and continued financial support for my kids - all of them."

"What the hell are you doing with your life?" Bardock bit out. He had gone from amused to angry rather quickly. "Take care of yourself; let the brats take care of themselves! They'll grow strong with opposition."

Gohan did not understand how anyone could think that way. He could still see the emaciated bodies of Saiyan children lying in the gutters, and the large rat-like birds scavenging their flesh from their bones before they were even dead. He pushed the red velvet chair out and stood up. "Have you seen how many corpses of children there are on the streets?" His hands balled into fists, and he assessed the facial expression of each man, and spared a glance at the broach of his cape. It had turned into an X. "I can see we don't to see eye to eye on this matter."

Gohan made it to the door, his hand touched the handle. When he received no objection, he opened the door and closed it behind him. A cool breeze alerted him to an open window not far from the door. He pulled the cloak's hood over his head and left. He didn't need help from bastards who cared only for themselves. He could do it alone, somehow. At least he hoped so. While it wasn't a dire situation, he was a man of his word. Since had not much choice but to find another method for bettering his people.

* * *

Chikyuu

* * *

"What the... We've gotta save them!" Gohan shouted to Piccolo. "They're gonna die, we've gotta help!"

Piccolo's hand was on Gohan's head again, in that gentle, warm way he often found it. He didn't hate it even a bit. It was more affection than anyone had ever shown him before. Still, Gohan pulled the hand off his head and shot the Namek a sharp glare.

"They're going to be digested, now isn't the time."

They crouched behind some hedges alongside a long stretch of highway over the desert ground. He needed to learn the resources the local cities held, and be able to map the shortest routes to and from the places he'd need to call on for aid. The roads often achieved that last objective, for which he was quite grateful. They were far from human society, or at least that's what Piccolo said. Which meant that their current location was the perfect place to do something and keep it undiscovered.

Piccolo never said much, but when he spoke Gohan listened with eager ears and an open, albeit lustful, mind. Piccolo was smart and unintentionally funny.

"I've never seen a monster like this, Piccolo. How do I save them?"

Piccolo had had a very long day, and the sun had just risen. It was only the second day with the Saiyan who took Gohan's name, but the shyness the boy originally presented was gone. Piccolo had already saved the innocent man's life twice, and it was surely only going to happen again in a few minutes.

But Piccolo wasn't tired of him. He felt energized in a way he hadn't experienced since the time when Gohan still depended on him. Gohan had already met his first humans after stumbling into a city, and had flown right in front of a jet. Piccolo had steered him clear of the jet's path, and told him to watch where he was flying.

The young Saiyan tried taming several animals at the local zoo, and those that refused to be tamed were almost dinner. Piccolo roped Tien and Krillin into getting him out of the city, since Piccolo was an alien and scary and evil and also a minion of the most treacherous demon lords!, or at least that's how humans received him.

He was thankful Tien was such an early riser, and that Krillin was in the area, otherwise things would have gotten more deadly and more difficult than it already was for the Namekian. Piccolo explained the lie he had told the two full-bloods, and they accepted it rather quickly. Gohan had even spent twelve minutes peacefully trying to figure out why one was so short and why the other had three eyes. It was the only peace Piccolo had had since the Saiyan arrived.

And as they crouched behind a hedge in the middle of nowhere, in an area Piccolo had thought was safe from human interaction, Gohan was trying to save humans from a Capsule Corp. Car that had apparently become savage and ate the humans who depended on it for traveling.

"How do I save them?"

Piccolo had no idea what to say to the moron, and had no desire to ruin the cute moment he was witnessing. He also knew the media would blame the nameless, faceless green thing that inhabited the desert if the car was attacked and the humans injured in anyway.

"It didn't eat them. It's not alive."

"No, I can hear it growling!"

"That's mechanical," Piccolo tried to reason with him.

"What's a mechanical?" Gohan asked, now interested in the answer and not focused on the car that passed by them and headed into the horizon.

Piccolo didn't quite where to start explaining what "a mechanical" was, but his hand landed in the Saiyan's soft black hair, and tried his best. "It's not harming them. They... made a contract with the... animal, and it brings them places in return for food. Like horses, or donkeys."

"Horses and donkeys?" Gohan asked.

"Four legged animals that carry people for food," Piccolo rolled his eyes and stood. "Anything else you want to attack or try eating today?"

"I want to know how that giant bird was flying so fast and not flapping its wings," Gohan said with all seriousness. "You called it a jet, right?"

Piccolo looked up at the sky, finding not one plane in sight. They'd probably decided to avoid the area for a while.

"Do you know where I can find one?"

Piccolo nodded his head. "Let's investigate."

The "green desert demon", as the newspapers were calling him that morning, would pay yet ANOTHER visit to the airport and he'd probably need a better excuse than "I have extreme leprosy, and cancer, and also my parents were both giants, and yes, the antenna looking things are just a hairstyle choice."

He extended a hand to Gohan, who took it and looked up at him with admiration and an expression that had never been directed toward him. It was going to be a very long, but very interesting, day.


	4. The Revolutionary and The Renegade

The Revolutionary and The Renegade

* * *

Gohan stared at the immense blue sky above him. He could feel Piccolo hunting in the distant forest just beyond the horizon. Before that afternoon he had never been able to tell where a person was by sense alone, but Piccolo was a teacher by nature, although he denied it. He couldn't pick up anyone else's presence just yet, but he was keenly aware of Piccolo's every movement.

He walked to the tree Piccolo had told him to wait near, and sat down, leaning against its sturdy, gargantuan trunk. It was as tall and wide as the trees back home on Vejita-sei, but its leaves were broader, more green, and higher up. They created a canopy unlike any Gohan had had the pleasure of napping beneath. There were a few shorter trees around the one he sat against, but after that a large expanse of grass surrounded him until the real forest encircled the plain.

"You don't seem to be in pain anymore."

Gohan yelped like a child who had been stung by a bee. He didn't start wailing, but the option sounded appealing when he saw the very reason he had planned his escape at all standing next to him. Gohan scooted away from the Sayain.

"You can understand what I'm saying, can't you?" The Prince asked.

Gohan nodded slowly. He was nervous and shaking, and mentally begging Piccolo to come back. He couldn't find his voice to scream for help, but he wished he could.

"Why do you smell like Vejita-sei?" he asked.

Gohan shook his head. When the Prince took a step forward, Gohan scrambled to his feet and started walking backwards, frantic and terrified of taking his eyes off the walking demon that had snuck up on him.

"Use your words, third class." Vegeta followed him step for step.

Gohan shook his head, not meaning to deny the commanding man, but saying that he could not.

"Gohan." The name did not sound nearly as appealing as it did when it came from Piccolo. Gohan could feel Piccolo returning rather quickly.

"We will meet again, boy, and you will tell me who you really are," the Prince snapped, before slipping out of the trees and disappearing into the skyline.

* * *

He wasn't devastated by the failure of his plan. He still had time to plan ahead, and he still had time to create a backup plan for the backup plan. He sat on the grassy hill where he had first arrived, holding his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. The night had almost entirely passed him by, sitting on the hill. It would only be a couple more hours until the sun rose.

Gohan had never thought something so simple could discourage him so greatly. He missed home already, and he hadn't been gone for more than a day.

A chilly wind blew over the emerald grass around Gohan. He was so far away from everything and anything he knew. The only link he had to his home, to his reality, was the hill he sat so desolately upon. His stomach rumbled like thunder through a stormy sky. He hadn't eaten anything since before he had left Capsule Corp. and he didn't know where his next meal would come from. He had planned for this occasion and packed some senzu beans, but they were with the body snatching Sayain back home.

Gohan had never felt so alone, but he didn't reject the feeling, either. This was what he wanted: a connection to the part of him he didn't understand, and to be far, far away from humans, from work, from expectation, and especially from home.

He thought through what had to be done, and then he thought through it again. It was a lot, and he didn't have time to be moping about the way he was. Gohan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off the back of his cape and straightened his pants. His stomach growled at him, and Gohan steeled his will: he might not have a chance to eat until the week was over and he returned home. He'd gone without food for much longer than that, but it wasn't a welcoming experience.

Gohan headed down the hill toward the glowing marketplace. Lanterns hanging on wooden poles lined the streets. It almost looked like a festival. Before his foot hit the cobblestone, he lowered his energy as much as he possibly could. He knew he would draw attention, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The shop-keeps along the right wall of stands were glancing at him urgently.

"Is that him?" Gohan heard the old man selling that looked like red bananas that had eaten a box whisper to his stall mate.

"Looks an awful lot like him," the younger man replied.

Gohan walked toward them with a wide smile. "Who do I look like? Why are you staring at me?"

"We-We're sorry, please don't kill us!" The old man was on his knees, bowing and begging with tears streaking down his weathered face.

"Gramps!" the younger man gestured for him to stop making a scene.

"Why would I kill you?" Gohan asked.

"You aren't here to kill us?" the kneeling Sayain asked.

"No, I'm not."

"But you're the one who stormed the castle?" the younger Sayain asked.

Gohan laughed uncomfortably. "Can we talk about this somewhere... quieter?" He looked around him, at the gathering crowd of tall, buff, and generally large and creepy Sayains that was forming behind him.

"Yes, lets," the old man took the hand the younger Sayain offered, and was pulled to his feet with ease.

"Yan, watch the stall," the younger man called to one of the three people minding the stall across from theirs.

* * *

The air was dry and warm. It made Gohan sleepy and lazy, but there was so much to learn about his new home that he didn't let himself slow down. Sure, he'd dragged Piccolo from pole to pole on the planet, but the Namek didn't seem to mind all that much. They had stopped for lunch along a rapidly flowing river, resting under something Piccolo called 'pines', and sitting on logs across from each other over the fire. Piccolo had caught some wild, very exotic fruit, and it smelled fantastic.

Gohan looked at Piccolo over the campfire between them. The man was staring into the fire. Piccolo had been quiet for a long time, but Gohan wasn't sure if that was just the Namek's nature, or if there was something on his mind.

"Are you... feeling alright?" Gohan asked.

Piccolo nodded.

"What's on your mind?"

Piccolo didn't answer immediately. Gohan started thinking he had done something wrong, something to make him angry. Before Gohan could ask, Piccolo looked up at him with the most concerned gaze that had ever been aimed at Gohan.

"What was so terrible about Vejita-sei that made you run away?" Piccolo asked.

Gohan hadn't expected that. A wry smile formed on his lips, and his eyes fell to the wood burning and crackling.

"Well, a lot," Gohan said softly. Gohan watched Piccolo take the fruit off the fire, and placed them beside Gohan on a large, flat green leaf. Gohan picked up the makeshift plate, and held out his arms, offering some to his companion. Piccolo shook his head.

"You're not hungry?" Gohan asked.

"My people only need to drink water to survive."

Gohan thought about it. "To survive, sure, but what about enjoy?"

"I would get sick."

"Then you can't have any!" Gohan's brow furrowed. "It's all mine!"

Piccolo's deep chesty laugh made Gohan's tail tighten around his waist. He placed the leaf-plate in his lap and let it cool. He was going to drool just looking at the strange food, but it was too hot, so he took his mind, and his mouth, away from the subject.

"There is no charity on Vejita-sei. There is no kindness, just sex and murder with the variables of politics and planetary conquests," Gohan said. "The strong survive, the weak die or bear children."

Piccolo nodded. His eyes weren't on Gohan, but the Sayain could tell that all the attention was on him.

"My parents were farmers. There were a couple years where it didn't rain, and they took out loan after loan and amassed a debt they could never even hope to repay. They sold my younger brother, and I bolted before they could do the same with me." Gohan didn't look at Piccolo. He had never told anybody about this. "I happened upon an acrobatics group full of foreigners and Sayains who could do pretty crazy things. I stayed with them for seven years."

"What made you leave them?"

Gohan scoffed. "Me? Leave them? No, they left me. My parents took their own lives and transferred their debt to me. The debt collectors caught up with me, killed a few troupe mates, and the Ringer got the picture." Gohan shrugged a shoulder. "They drugged my dinner and abandoned me in the capital."

He didn't want to tell the rest of the story. Not to Piccolo and not to anyone else until the day he died. Gohan started eating, and didn't say another word until he was finished. Piccolo must have picked up on the cue and didn't ask any more about his past. It was just as well, since he'd already told the easy part of the story.

* * *

Gohan was led to a sandstone building. It was small and quaint from the outside. The younger man opened the door and the elder went inside. Gohan followed him, and the younger man closed the door behind them. It was a simple home, wooden floors covered with a brown weaved area rug. The furniture was all wood, except the couch facing the far wall. There was a tall table with a clear lamp and four chairs surrounding it. The left wall was a basic kitchen with a wood stove and a wooden box Gohan imagined to be an older style of refrigeration. There were cabinets hanging from the ceiling, and a long, thin, vivid painting of Sayain history in progression on the backsplash above the wooden countertops. It smelled like musty pine and dinner in the oven.

"This is a nice place," Gohan said, his voice full of honest admiration.

"I built it myself in my younger days," the old man said.

"I didn't get your name," the younger Sayain said to Gohan. "I'm Kabu, and this is my Grandfather, Yasai."

"I'm Gohan, and it's very nice to meet you," Gohan replied. He took off his shoes.

"Have a seat," Yasai gestured to the tall wooden table.

Gohan took the seat, and waited for Kabu and Yasai to take their seats. Kabu looked just about ten years older than Gohan, give or take half a decade. His hair was brown, and not black like most of the Sayains he had seen on the streets. He had a large scar that started behind his right ear, extended over his right eye, and the bridge of his nose. It wasn't a clean scar, either. It looked like the area had been torn from him, not sliced off. It was deep behind his ear, and became shallower over his nose. His right eye did not open.

Yasai was the oldest Sayain Gohan had ever laid eyes on. He was sure about it, too, because Yasai looked old. His father and Vegeta back on Earth didn't look nearly their age, and could pass as his older brother if they had to. He looked almost identical to Kabu, but without the scar. His hair had grayed, and his skin got wrinkled, but Gohan could see the life and fighting spirit still alive and kicking in him.

"You say you built this yourself?" Gohan asked, looking around at the ceiling, and walls. It seemed simple at a glance, but the detail and meticulous design showed how very skilled Yasai was.

"I built most of the city, actually."

A light went on in Gohan's mind, but he kept the idea to himself. "Would you please tell me what's going on?"

Yasai sat across from him, and Kabu brought three mugs filled with what Gohan learned to be water, before sitting diagonally from him.

"Were you the one who murdered all of the Elite Guards stationed at the Palace?" Kabu asked.

"I... I didn't kill anybody!"

"So you admit that you attacked them?" Yasai took a sip from the mug.

"Yeah, but I didn't kill even one person. I made sure not to hit anything vital, or even break any bones, I swear." Gohan stared at the table. "If I... If I killed someone, even by accident..." Gohan shook his head and his hands found their way to his head. His palms rested above his ears as his elbows rested on the table. "No, that didn't happen. Why?"

Gohan looked up to see their faces. The two full-bloods exchanged a look. "Why what?"

"Why would you know? How are you so sure?"

"Some of the Elite Guard stationed at the nearby border returned a couple hours ago, and started knocking on doors. The crowned Prince himself has a warrant out for you," Yasai said.

* * *

The sun was barely rising over the horizon, and yet Vegeta and Goku were heading toward Piccolo and the sleeping imposter. Piccolo had been up for hours. He didn't actually sleep, but who was he to tell Gohan, who was complaining about the cold, that he wouldn't keep him warm while they slept. It was the first time Piccolo had ever done something even close to romantic. He didn't understand love or romance, or how to do either of them the way the daytime soaps made them out to be.

He had gone and hunted them a wild deer-like animal for breakfast, and had already destroyed all traces of it ever having been alive. For a Sayain, Gohan really hated the idea of killing or eating something that had been alive. It was his first experience with a vegetarian Sayain, but Sayains needed meat in order to live, so Piccolo told him it was an exotic vegetable. If that wasn't strange, the part where Gohan believed him was.

Piccolo was putting the "exotic vegetable" over the fire when Vegeta and Goku landed about a kilometer away. Piccolo cast a glance at the sleeping man and then at the fire. He knew the two Sayains were meaning to talk to him, but this Gohan was a moron, to put it simply, and stood a good chance of burning himself if given any opportunity to do so. Piccolo felt Vegeta's energy spike, and rolled his eyes. That man was impatient and unreasonable. It was a wonder Goku could stand his presence.

Piccolo knelt next to Gohan's sleeping body, and ran a hand over his soft black hair. A soft smile graced his lips as he gazed down at the sleeping beauty. At least until something caught his eye, and a scowl replaced the content expression on his face. At the sleeping Sayain's temple there were several gray-blue hairs that had not been there when he had gone to sleep the previous night. Piccolo was positive, because he hadn't spent the night sleeping, but he had spent it staring at the young man's profile.

Vegeta's energy spiked angrily, and Piccolo stood. He didn't look back, and left the ground, heading toward the Sayains who came to call at ungodly hours.

* * *

"That jackass!" Gohan slammed a fist on the table, and the mugs jumped.

It was always the same. It didn't matter whether this was Earth, or Vejita-sei or any other place in the universe: he was always, always being hounded for one thing or another. The Kais were out to get him. That was the only logical explanation, and even that wasn't so logical. Why him? What made him so special?

He hadn't come to Vejita-sei to play hero or villain. He had come to find himself, but the only thing he found was that time and place made no difference when you had shit for luck. Gohan's nails were digging into his palms, and his energy was rising to a level exceeding anything the two Sayains before him had ever seen. He was infuriated, and he could feel himself snapping.

"C-Calm down, Gohan!" Kabu tried.

"He's gonna kill us, just like I said!"

Just as fast as he had lost his cool, he regained it, and his energy seemingly disappeared entirely. His anger hadn't abated, but his common sense kicked in.

"You won't believe me. I don't expect you to, but I have to say this," Gohan pushed the chair away from the table and stood. "I didn't kill anybody. I was trying to help the city. I got his attention by knocking them out, and then I asked him, very politely, to fix up the orphan situation in the streets." Gohan shook his head in self-admonition and laughed bitterly. "This is what I get for trying to help? I won't make the same mistake again."

Gohan headed for the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Yasai, and his grip was stronger than Gohan believed any Sayain of the current era could create.

"What do you mean?" the old coot asked.

"Let me go, old man," Gohan said, from a deep, dark place within himself.

"Listen to me, Gohan," Kabu scooted in front of him, blocking his escape route. "I'm asking for ten minutes, that's all. You can do what you want after, but give me ten minutes!"

Gohan looked at him like he was stupid. "You want to stall me while the Elites catch up?"

The two full-bloods looked at each other in confusion, and returned their gaze to Gohan. "Are you stupid or something?"

Gohan wanted to ask them that very same question, but since he was in someone else's home, on someone else's land and courtesy, he refrained, like he always had, and nodded his head. "Ten minutes is fine. But I have no idea what you think you can accomplish in that amount of time."

"With you we can accomplish anything," Kabu said.

Gohan had a sinking feeling about the tone of voice Kabu was using. "What are you talking about?"

"You just ascended before our eyes. This isn't a coincidence."

Gohan thought about what the hell Kabu was talking about, and when he realized that he in fact had not realized that he had ascended in his rage, he hung his head in shame. He was such an idiot. Now he had no choice but to go along with whatever crazy plan the old man and the disabled man had cooked up. Just great – exactly what he needed on his Vejita-sei vacation. It was one more thing he'd have to put in the "what did you do for summer vacation" report when college started up in a few months.

"What's the plan?" Gohan asked, his voice as full of dread as he felt.

"There are thirty thousand of us, but before now we never stood a chance." Yasai walked to the far wall and knocked on it like he was visiting a friend's house.

Much to Gohan's surprise, the house shook and the stone wall opened. Yasai waved Gohan forward, and walked into the darkness.

* * *

Piccolo landed two meters from the Sayain duo before him in an area where he had trained a few days before. Where there had been grass a mere week ago, dry, dusty dirt formed clouds with each step.

"What do you want?" Piccolo asked.

"Has he remembered anything?" Vegeta asked.

"About Earth? About his mother? About me?" Goku specified in a hurried, anxious tone, the same one young women used when they asked their boyfriend's family if said boyfriend ever mentioned her.

"Not yet. It's only been a day," Piccolo said curtly.

"I'm not expecting an overnight miracle," Vegeta said. "I am, however, expecting to talk to him, alone."

"No," was all Piccolo said. He wasn't going to let Vegeta anywhere near him. He didn't want anyone else to communicate with him, he wanted to own him entirely, and it wasn't something he'd do if he wasn't going to do it whole-heartedly.

"I'm not asking for permission," Vegeta chuckled. "I've already talked to him."

"No, Vegeta, you scared him silent. He wouldn't speak at all for hours." Not that a little quiet was unwelcome. Gohan was something of a chatterbox, and Piccolo hadn't quite mastered the helpful ability of tuning someone out. He looked Goku in the eyes, and said "I don't think it would be healthy for Gohan to be around other Sayains at this time. He's already connected to his Sayain side and shut his human side down entirely, and if you ever want him back to the boy you raised, you cannot allow Vegeta to speak to him."

Miniscule dust storms rose and fell around Vegeta's feet approached the Namekian. Piccolo could understand somewhere deep in his subconscious, that Vegeta had no interest in the boy, but placed a large significance on the boy's language and scent. Vegeta did not see romance in the boy, he saw home – and Piccolo felt that was a much greater danger. Home is where the heart is, after all.

"How are we supposed to know if the brat's alright or not if you won't let us near him? How long will it take for him to return, and do you really think you can separate a family for that long?"

Piccolo didn't take his eyes from Goku's. "It's only been a day. You can either trust me or kill me and take the boy back. But you will never get him back to who he was if you do not let time heal him with my guidance."

* * *

KHTW: Tell me what you think (aka: review) or I'll forget that I wrote this at all. I tend to do that. I mean, look at the last story I was writing, I haven't updated that in a whole year.


	5. The Dastard and The Con

Kate: Sorry chapter 5 is so late. I'm forgetful and something of a nit-pick. Please review and tell me what you think of it.

**Chapter 5: The Dastard and The Con**

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* * *

  
**

When Gohan reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew even before the light from the sconces reached his eyes that he had probably been tricked. The scent in what he had assumed to be a large system of underground tunnels, or at least a cave system, was unmistakably damp earth, alcohol, and Sayain. The shallow echo of his footsteps set in stone the fact that his idiocy was legendary. The Universe had to be playing a very elaborate and long-term prank on him. His luck couldn't possibly have been so terrible if outside forces weren't involved.

"Wow," Gohan laughed humorlessly. "You sure have a way of bolstering faith in a planet, don't you?"

He must have been a sucker for saving the world. How could he have believed anything said by two Sayains he just met? He had believed simply because deep down, somewhere beneath the hatred he felt for being tricked, he wanted to believe in them. He had resolved himself to staying out of the limelight when that poltergeist like Sayain switched lives with him on the hill. Where had that resolve gone? Furthermore, where had that face-stealing bastard gone? Gohan had more than just a few words to share with him when they met back up on the hill.

"You had him pegged perfectly, Vegeta," Bardock snorted. There was a pop, and the distinct sound of someone chugging something.

A candle was lit, and then another, and then another, illuminating a wine cellar barely big enough to fit all six of them, never mind thirty-thousand warriors. It smelled like sweat and damp packed dirt. Along the far wall, if a wall he could touch from where he was standing could be called that, there was a long, floor to ceiling wine rack jam-packed with bottles filled with liquids of varying colors of disgusting. Candles lined all the other walls in what looked like wrought iron sconces. For being made of dirt, Gohan found the room extremely square and level.

"What do you gain from branding me a criminal?" Gohan shoved the two lying, conniving jerks out of the way, and sat on a stair just a little above Vegeta's eye line. One knee was on the stair directly below him, and the other two steps down. He placed his elbow on the higher knee and leaned toward the Sayain who seemed dead-bent on impeding his progress every step of the way.

"A lot, actually," Vegeta replied.

Vegeta sat directly before him on the only unstacked wine cask in the room, glaring at him unabashedly. If Gohan hadn't been so angry at him, he might have thought that the furious and fierce look on the Prince's face was adorable, or attractive, or beautiful, or – well it didn't matter because he _was_ mad, and he didn't think any of those things anyway. Gohan diverted his eyes.

"Like what? Being associated with a murderer?" Gohan felt snarky, and he didn't hide it in his voice. "Yeah, we can totally have tea parties in the royal court. No one will think it's weird. We'll get a medal and a street named after us to commemorate the day the Prince became cohorts with a criminal."

Radditz, who was leaning against the left dirt wall between two sconces, must have thought him ballsy, because he smirked and shook his head in the same way he had seen the Vegeta back home show his bemusement.

Bardock was far too busy inspecting the alcoholic beverages covering the wall and picking out his favorites to have any reaction to his outburst whatsoever. There were three empty bottles by Bardock's feet. He would never before that moment thought any Sayain capable of being a quiet drunk. Gohan wondered how anyone could possibly drink something chunky without thinking about how it would feel the same coming up as it did going down. Maybe Bardock liked vomit? That was beside the point.

"To start, you can't move independently anymore, which limits the places you can escape to." Vegeta was completely unfazed by Gohan's comments. He was just as calm as he had been when Gohan had walked down the stairs.

Gohan sniffed the air. He was wrong. Vegeta was different… somehow. The air smelled spicy, tense, and familiar, and the look Vegeta was sending him was not of resentment or frustration, but one of determination and challenge.

Gohan inhaled sharply and let out a large sneeze. He wiped his nose with his the bottom of his cloak and blinked a few times to return to the matter at hand.

"I gave you my terms," Gohan said. "Ah, hold on!" Another sneeze escaped him, another, and then another, each louder and more violent than the one before it. "I think I'm allergic to something down here." Gohan said, completely without the use of his nose. He had never been allergic to anything in his life before, so it was a little disturbing. He had never considered the possibility that he would contract some sort of illness that native Sayains had gained immunity to, but that off-world Sayains were never exposed to before.

Bardock looked away from the wine rack, first to Gohan, and then to Vegeta. When he met Radditz's eyes, the two started howling in laughter and Gohan couldn't figure out what the hell they thought was so funny.

"Can it!" Vegeta snarled.

Gohan felt the involuntary inhale that happened before a sneeze, and in the moments before the sneeze exploded from his nose, he thought he had glimpsed a rare sight. If he hadn't been so busy sneezing, he was sure he could have verified that the flushed face he had seen had really appeared on Vegeta's face.

"What do you want from me?" Gohan asked.

"We've been over this before. Kill the King, and get rid of that STD-ridden space lizard."

"I'll scratch your back if you'll scratch mine. If you'd just take care of your own goddamned people we wouldn't have a problem." Gohan stood and hit the back of his cloak a few times, efficiently getting out the dirt he had sat on. "Isn't that what it means to be King?"

"We've come up with another solution. With Kabu and Yasai's help, we've confirmed you're strong enough, and all you have to do is agree to our simple request, and everything will be solved," Bardock said. He didn't seem to think the topic was important enough to look away from the wine rack for.

"There's always a catch. Spit it out."

"We'll get to that in time," Radditz interrupted, "and don't give me shit about getting up and leaving. We've got some collateral that might help convince you to lend a hand."

"Prove it," Gohan challenged.

As if everything in the Universe had conspired against him, a muffle shout and a repetitive banging noise assaulted Gohan's ears.

The prince stood and with one swift kick knocked the wine barrel over. The loose barrel cover fell off, and a familiar being tumbled out.

"Shoran?"

* * *

When Piccolo returned from his evening hunt, the man who had been playing with the speckled fish in the pond with the joy of child a quarter of his visible age was gone. Piccolo hadn't been gone for very long, maybe an hour, and from what he could gather, it seemed like the Gohan impostor couldn't fly. He couldn't possibly be far, and that was enough for Piccolo.

With ease, he tossed the beast he had slain just inside the mouth of the elevated limestone cave near the tree they had eaten under the previous day. In early spring the cave would start to fill with rivulets of melted snow, and by the time all the birds returned to the area, a violet torrent would spray forth from the mouth of the cave. By the time summer rolled around the waters would dry up completely, creating a perfect seasonal living space for the society-alienated alien. All of the places he stayed were seasonal, and each time some reporter came looking for him, he had to relocate entirely.

He reached out with his mind, staring blankly up at the body of the meal he had planned to prepare, but there was no one around for a hundred miles in any direction. His hands tensed into fists. He had been hoodwinked. His desire to monopolize the real Gohan had bled like an ink pen exploding, painting over into his duties to the Earth, to his Sayain friends, and to the true Gohan.

How could he have believed anything such a suspicious person said? He was not a very trusting person, but he bought every word that con-artist sold.

"What's got you so angry?"

Piccolo spun around. He was standing by the lake, like nothing had happened and he had been playing in the water the whole time.

"What really made you switch places with Gohan?" Piccolo asked him.

"Family, but I said that, didn't I?" The smile he wore seemed so honest.

Piccolo's blood covered hand wrapped around the man's neck. Piccolo saw the shock in his eyes seconds before he was thrown into the earth at their feet.

"No, that's not what you said at all." Piccolo pinned him to the ground with a foot. "I've had time to sort through your story, but things haven't added up since the moment you opened your mouth."

The younger man had had the air knocked out of him. It took him almost a minute until he was able to draw in a breath. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You're not even Sayain, are you?" Piccolo ground his foot into the felled man's chest.

"That's news to me."

Piccolo looked up from the cringing expression of the body-snatcher, to the furious face of the one and only Sayain Prince.

"I think we need to have a little talk." Leaning against the gray rock beneath the mouth of the cave was the frame of the one and only Sayain Prince.

The night was bright, the overcast sky trapping and distributing the long gone sun's rays. Hovering outside of one the white stone palace's many arched windows, Gohan waited. He was angrier than he had ever been in recent years, and his hatred and rage rivaled that of worst in his lifetime. His entire being rebelled against him, wanting to be anywhere other than where he was, doing anything other than what he was forced to do.

The room inside was anything but modest. Emerald tapestry hung on the walls and windows. A four posted bed, larger than any he could see reasonable use for, took up almost half the room. Opposite the footboard, a fire roared in its place in the stone and mortar wall. Sleeping soundly in the bed was a man who looked quite a bit like Vegeta, but older, and bearded.

It was cowardly the way he was doing this. Could he ever forgive himself for what he was going to do? Was he really placing the value of an orphan over that of a king? The answer he found was terribly negative to his honor and his self-confidence.

Gohan slipped into the room, and walked to the man's bedside.

"If he can't even do his own dirty work, do you think he'll make that great a King?"

Gohan jumped only a little at the man's voice. The King opened his eyes and sat up, relaxing against the heavily ornamented wooden headboard.

"That's not for me to decide," Gohan answered. With his right arm raised, and hand in the shape of a gun, a bright light started to form in front of his outstretched fingertips.

"You escaped, I see," the man smiled.

Gohan's brow creased, but he didn't lower his arm or end the imminent death promise that glowed in front of his hand. "What are you talking about?"

The King stared into his eyes, trying to discern something. "Your cape."

Gohan shook his head, confused. "What about it?"

"Where did you get it?" He asked.

Gohan didn't answer. He couldn't answer. How was he supposed to explain his situation without entirely blowing his time-swapping cover? He swallowed the nervous lump that had gathered in his throat.

The King started laughing, rambunctiously and joyously. There was a knock on the door.

"M'lord, is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything is fine. Take the rest of the night for yourself, you have worked hard," the King shouted to the guard outside.

"Uh, thank you, thank you!" Gohan heard his footfalls get quieter and felt the guard's presence leave.

"Whatever you gave to get your hands on that cape wasn't worth the trade."

"I know that better than anyone," Gohan said. "I traded something irreplaceable for a lousy piece of cloth."

The King chuckled softly. "It's not just a piece of cloth, boy."

"What are you talking about?" Gohan demanded.

"You can't take it off, can you?" The King smiled. "Get to it, boy. If you're going to kill me, do it now. The Elite Guard is heading this way, and your escape window is closing."

"But you sent the guard away!"

"As if I'd ever praise a simple guard for hard work."

Gohan was upset, but couldn't find it in himself to get angry at the man. After all, he had come to kill him in his sleep, and if the man hadn't done something in retaliation, it would have eaten Gohan alive from the inside out. Not to mention how very familiar the man felt. It reminded him of sparring with Vegeta on Earth, and growing up with Vegeta as a figure of authority.

"Are you going to get to it, fugitive, or should I go back to sleep?"

Gohan's hand relaxed and fell to his side, the death threat disappearing with his rage. "How?"

"It's a common bedtime story. I've told it to my children countless times, although I never believed the Cloak of Fading actually existed."

"What does that mean?"

"You should get going if you plan to leave without being seen."

He sighed, but nodded. Gohan bowed to the King, and headed to the window.

"The clock is ticking, boy, and I can only protect you for so long. Once your time is up, there is no bringing you back."

Gohan looked over his shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered, and disappeared into the bright, overcast sky.

* * *

"He doesn't have to tell you anything," Piccolo said.

Piccolo removed his foot from the man's chest, and placed himself between the two Sayains. Until he heard the truth from the lying man's lips, there was nothing that could interrupt and not pay a steep price.

"No, I think it's just about time. The window for undoing it all has already closed," the man masquerading as Gohan said.

Piccolo turned and watched him stand. He dusted himself off, and smiled as if nothing had happened, as if Piccolo's violent actions had not even fazed him. He sat down on a flat rock not ten feet away from where he had supposedly had the shit beaten out of him.

"Come, sit," Gohan smiled, gesturing to two other rocks around the fire pit. "Make some lunch and I'll tell you what you need to know."

Piccolo flew to the cave and picked up the carcass. By the time he had it skewered and brought to the two Sayains, the fire pit was already filled with wood and lit ablaze. He placed it over the open fire and sat.

"Much as you expected, I am not Gohan," the man said.

Piccolo looked up at the endlessly blue sky. It felt like he was looking up at the surface from the bottom of a lake, drowning, smothered by the weight of the clear water.

"Where is the real Gohan?" Vegeta asked.

"He's on Vejita-sei, studying the local culture, last I heard."

"Vejita-sei was destroyed many years ago," Vegeta argued.

"Then he's visiting some point before it was destroyed."

"That's impossible! If it could have been done, I would have done it!" Vegeta shouted.

"You couldn't have done it. Our compatibility is high, but not as high as Gohan and my own."

Piccolo closed his eyes. He had almost enjoyed having the liar all to himself, and now that everything was being disclosed, it felt like he was losing Gohan all over again.

"Why did you come to Earth?" Piccolo asked.

"I didn't actually mean to come here. It's a bit far from my desired destination. I had hoped to be a little closer to Vejita-sei's coordinates, but this will have to do."

Piccolo didn't ask any further questions. It kind of stung that he was speaking so coldly to him now, even though they had spent the past few days alone together.

"Have you ever heard of the Cloak of Fading, by any chance?" he asked.

Piccolo opened his eyes in time to see Vegeta's mouth fall ajar. Piccolo had never heard of such a cloak, but Vegeta obviously had, and he wasn't very happy to hear it mentioned.

"You know it?" Piccolo asked Vegeta.

"It's a story told to Sayain brats before bed. Its complete allegory: you do something unforgivable, and you will be punished accordingly. It's a Sayain story told to get young children to behave," Vegeta said slowly, as if having a hard time believing what he was saying.

"It's not allegory at all. I did something inexcusable, and was trapped in the void. My sentence ran its course, and I was supposed to be set free close to a thousand years ago, but no one came for me. I saw my opportunity to get out, and I took it. From the time I arrived, I had seven days to find my jailors, and get them to revoke my sentence."

"What happens after the seven days?"

"I gave Gohan the Cloak of Fading. When time runs out, and this hasn't been resolved, we will both be brought back to the void and we will never be allowed to leave."

Piccolo lunged for the man's throat, but Vegeta beat him to it. Vegeta choked the man, slamming his head against the rock he had been sitting on only moments earlier.

"Why?" Slam. "Why?" Slam. "Why?" Slam.

"Because now you have no choice but to help me," the Gohan impersonator smiled.

* * *

Kate: This is much more elaborate than most of my other stories, I know, but I hope you still enjoy it. Please review and tell me what you think! If I don't update for a while, please PM me and remind me!


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